Date: Sat, 14 Sep 2002 06:46:22 -0400
From: istari
Subject: Mastering Alex 16 - 17
The following story describes the evolving relationship between
and man and a soon-to-be thirteen-year-old boy. It is the story
of a safe, loving, consensual, dominant/submissive relationship
and does contain scenes of bondage, sado-masochism, etc. If that
sort of thing makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading. This
story is utter fiction, the product perhaps of my own childhood
fantasies, and nothing more.
Comments are welcome at istari_olias@hotmail.com
Thanks to everyone who's said such nice things about Alex and his
adventures. And Special Thanks to "Rick", who has provided some
deep insights on the Master/slave relationship and is not afraid
to challenge me from time to time.
Mastering Alex
Chapter 16: Taking Stock of Alex.
After Alex received his punishment, I again bound his ankles
to the bench. The kid was still hard. He was licking his lips
slowly and humming to himself. The initial biting pain of the
clamps on his nipples had now faded to a dull but constant ache.
Anyone who's ever worn them knows the feeling. The endless
unrelenting pressure, the slow deep burning, the electric
sensitivity that seems to spread from those two little biological
oddities outward to your entire body. For all of us, at some
level I suppose, pain and pleasure do share some common ground.
For a boy masochist stretched and bound in front of my eyes, the
two were instantly and immediately and intimately the same.
I have to confess the depth of Alexander's fixation, his
addictive need for pain, was still rather disturbing to me at the
time. Boys aren't supposed to be like this, are they? Or perhaps
they are, and we just dismiss them and ignore them, because
they're boys. Alexander had bravely decided that he was a boy who
was not going to be ignored. This is who he was, and he had a
perfect right to express it. He lay there now, in pain, but fully
and happily contented.
And I was content to leave him there. We still had another
crate to unpack. Robert and Michael were already beginning to
remove long planks of wood from it, laying them out in an orderly
fashion on the floor. I knelt down beside Alex and he turned his
head to look at me.
"May I have the gag again?" he asked softly, blinking his
eyes in a slow rhythm.
"Not just yet," I said, giving the thin chain between the
clamps a little tug. Alex took in a sharp hissing breath. "If you
start to get in trouble, I want you to tell me. Don't take more
than you can handle."
A strained smile crossed his lips. "You worry about me too
much."
"Somebody has to."
Alex laid his head back down and closed his eyes, tightly.
So there was a struggle going on after all, one the boy was not
willing to admit to me. Pain that quickly comes and goes is one
thing, but pain that comes and endures is something very
different. Something very new for him. Alex was learning this
lesson right there in our living room. And then I realized he had
not asked for the gag because it turned him on, which it
certainly did, but because he needed something to bit down on,
something to muffle his occasional scream so that his master
would not have to hear it.
And so, was it actually mercy to take his voice, his only
way of asking for escape? Or was it mercy to leave him there as
he was. My dilemma produced a perfect solution, one I would use
again and again whenever things got difficult for him. I could be
kind and cruel all at once. I could keep him safe, while letting
him enjoy the giddy thrill of danger. I picked up the gag, and
for just an instant his eyes stared at me in desperation. I put
the ball into his mouth, but I did not buckle the straps.
A look of gratitude was in his eyes when I finally turned
away and left him.
Robert and Michael were hard at work, and the unknown
contraption was beginning to take shape. The base was wooden,
solid and heavy and three inches thick, painted black, four feet
square. Thick iron rings were bolted to it in an orderly array.
There was one in each corner, and several sets of two running
down the center all equally spaced from the edges. Two of the
sides had large square openings cut close to the edge. I had
diverted my attention from Alex just in time to see Michael
insert a five-foot high post into one of these holes. The post
itself was very thick and had a deep groove running its entire
length on the inside. On its outer side at mid-height, there was
a small winch. On the top of the post there was a pulley wheel.
Michael worked efficiently and silently, locking the post to the
base with large bolts and screws. With Robert looking on, the
young slave dropped the second post into position and secured it
as well. It was identical to its mate, with that same deep groove
and ominous pulley contraption at the top.
Returning to the wheeled crate, Michael slung two long heavy
chains over his shoulders and waited. Robert himself pulled the
last wooden piece from the crate, two pieces actually, black like
the rest, with three half circles cut out on their corresponding
ends.
"You will find the stock very useful, Steven," Robert said.
For that is exactly what it was, wicked and harsh and fully
adjustable. "Michael spent many hours and days here as a boy,
didn't you?"
"Yes, sir," the youthful slave replied. I thought I saw a
slight shiver.
"The bottom piece slides in first. It is marked, as you can
see."
I watched carefully. The bottom piece was slightly longer, with a
sharply curved hook at each end. Robert lowered it into position
from the top, lining it up with the grooves and sliding it down.
It was snug fit. "The chains, please, Michael."
Obediently Michael ran the chains through the pulleys then
hooked them to the bottom piece. Robert continued his impromptu
lesson. "The other ends of the chains attach to the winches on
the sides. Once they are locked it will not move."
Michael carried out Robert's narrative as though they were
direct instructions, and gave the winches a few turns to tighten
everything up.
"Once the boy is in position, the top piece just slides
right down the groove. There are locking hasps on the back side."
He pointed them out to me. "You can immobilize his feet with the
rings on the base."
I stepped onto the wooden base myself. It was sturdy and
rugged, and I could see the slight wear in the holes where
Michael's wrists and neck had been. I imagined him as I first
remembered him, a small wraith of a boy with large blue eyes,
almost fifteen but a late bloomer, looking more like eleven or
twelve. I knew Robert had kept him in strict bondage from day
one, but I was never witness to it. I looked over at my own boy,
still stretched unnaturally on the bench.
"Let's try it out," I said.
Alex was moaning softly but no longer biting into the gag. I
released his arms and legs, while Robert loosened the strap
across his stomach.
"Stand up, Alex."
He needed a little help at first. His limbs were still
wobbly from the stretching and the pain. Quickly I buckled the
straps on his gag, pulling them tighter than before, and ran my
fingers over his clamped nipples. Then I turned him around so he
could see the frightening new addition to our living room. The
look on his face when he got his first full glimpse of the stock
was priceless.
Robert thoughtfully handed me the leather leash that went
with Alex' collar. I think my dick grew a few inches at the mere
thought of having my submissive boy leashed, and leading him
around like an animal. I dangled it in front of him so he could
think about it for a second, then I attached the leash to his
collar. It was about three feet long. I rolled a bit of the
excess around my hand and gave it a firm tug. Unaccustomed to
this new discipline, poor Alex lost his balance and stumbled
forward.
I tugged at it again. This time he did much better.
"Good. Now on the floor."
Immediately Alex was on all fours. I led him around the
living room on his hands and knees for a few minutes, letting him
get more comfortable with the leash that would soon be a normal
part of his life. Meanwhile Michael got his master's dick out and
gave it a good sucking. Robert's eyes were fixed on Alex. He was
not a boylover, but what gay man would not be just a little
turned on by the sight of a naked twelve-year-old on a leash?
Still on his hands and knees, I brought Alex to the stock
and pulled him to his feet.
"Just think, sweetie, I could keep you here for days. Let's
see how you fit."
I pulled the top piece up along the grooves. Currently the
stock was set at about three feet off the ground. Quickly and
roughly I bent him over and he shuffled forward, until his neck
lay in the rest. I put his wrists in position myself, noticing
the large eyebolts which I immediately clasped to his cuffs. The
top piece came down easily and I locked the two together. Alex
was now bent ninety degrees, his neck and wrists in the stock. I
spread his legs and clasped his ankle cuffs to the nearest rings
in the base. Freed of his belt, his young balls were hanging low,
his cock still semi-erect. With one hand on his back, I reached
between his legs and rolled the boy's testicles between my
fingers. Then I grabbed his cock, pulling on it with a slow
downward stroke, working it to another full erection. Alex was
totally silent.
I knew he could not see me, only feel my hand between his
legs toying with him. I said nothing as I moved the boy's silken
foreskin up and down over his throbbing shaft, covering the head
with one motion, retracting it as far as it would go with the
next. Fluid was dripping from him again. Alex bent his knees a
little further and rocked back against me as far as his bondage
would allow. I continued to stroke him, coaxing a steady stream
of clear liquid from his young penis. Every time I would feel the
tension building in his muscles I would stop and get him back
under my control. Keeping a horny young twelve-year-old from
cumming once you've got him hard and dripping takes a great deal
of care, and Alex had three days of pent up sperm he needed
desperately to get rid of.
Alex wiggled around in the stock, trying madly to bring
himself off in my hand. But that hand was always taken away just
as he was about to cum. He's shake and shiver every time my
fingers left his penis, and again every time they returned.
Finally a series of low, anguished, frustrated cries began to
fill the air around us.
The boy's sweet sounds were joined shortly by the deep
masculine growl of Robert having his orgasm. I looked over to see
him forcing Michael off his cock. The young man actually fell
back onto his hands, his master's sperm dripping from his mouth.
Robert yanked him to his feet harshly, grabbed him by his short
blond hair and gave him a forceful kiss. Michael, small and
slender, seemed to disappear in his master's powerful and
unrelenting embrace.
Alex, of course, had been watching the entire scene, and was
more turned on and hysterical now than ever. I knew that just the
lightest touch would send him into orgasm, and so touch was
quickly and totally denied him. I gave the chain connecting his
nipples several hard tugs, not enough to pull them off, but
enough to change his focus, from pleasure sharply denied to pain
ruthlessly given. I came around front for the first time. He was
drenched in sweat. His hazel eyes confronted me. Tears were
rolling down his cheeks. The ball-gag added to the aura of sheer
despair and helplessness that surrounded him. He gave me a
delicious look of hatred.
"You've only just begun to hate me, Alex," I said with my
most evil grin.
Chapter 17: That Special Touch.
I took the leather blindfold from the box and put it on my
boy. Alex tensed at the sudden and total darkness, but only for a
moment. I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. I gave him a
gentle kiss. Just then an equally tender touch graced my
shoulder. It was Robert.
"You two need to be alone," he said softly. "Michael and I
will pack everything up and show ourselves out."
And a few minutes later they were gone. It already seemed
like we'd spent a full evening, but it was not yet ten-thirty. I
looked at Alex, my sweet wonderful boy, bound in the stocks,
gagged and blindfolded. I needed one more thing and went out to
the garage to find it. At first I'd forgotten where I'd left
them, but there they were among the power tools. I dropped the
earplugs into the palm of my hand and carried them back to my boy
in the stocks.
I did not tell him what I was about to do. I simply worked
them into his ears. The boy was voiceless, blind, and deaf. All
he would have now is touch. The earplugs brought on a brief round
of struggle as Alex jerked against the wooden frame, but again he
calmed down right away. He would always be safe with me. He knew
this. I gave his butt-plug an insistent tug and slowly pulled it
out of him. It dropped to the wooden base with a heavy thud. I
left it there.
The couch looked inviting, so I stretched out and picked up
the book I'd been reading. Occasionally I'd hear a muffled sob or
the creaking of the wood as he strained against the stock, but
mostly Alex was silent. From my vantage I could see his backside
perfectly. His growing balls were hanging down very low in his
hairless sac. And he was soft again. I could just see the tip of
his foreskin dangling beneath his scrotum. He moved his legs a
bit. Bent over and spread wide, he was well balanced in this
position, but the strain in his young thighs and calves was
constant.
Thirty minutes passed. I set my book on the coffee table and
approached him silently from behind. I reached beneath him and
took the clamps off his nipples. The pain was furious as the
blood returned to his little buds. He shouted into his gag and
jerked around in the stocks. Immediately I stuck a single finger
into his ass, rubbed his swollen prostate for a moment, and
withdrew. Then I returned to my book. Fifteen minutes later I was
back. This time I stroked his penis as it dangled between his
slender legs. He was hard in seconds. I returned to my book.
Another half-hour went by, and again I fingered him, in and out
of his little hole quickly, just enough to give him the sensation
of touch, but no pleasure. I waited another fifteen minutes and
stroked his cock again. It was just going soft and I forced him
to erect once more. It went on like this until long past
midnight. On my random trips to the kitchen I would stop and give
him a gentle spanking, just three or four swats on each cheek,
but always I kept the timing of his anal and penile stimulation
rigid and strict.
Finally, close to three in the morning, I turned off all the
lights and went to bed, leaving Alex in the stocks, denied of all
his senses now, even my touch. I suppose he still had taste, but
what was that now but a rubber ball that filled his mouth. There
was smell, of course, but that was only the boyish odor of his
own body, mixed with sweat and leather.
I forced myself awake around five, and went back downstairs.
In the dim moonlight I could see Alex' slender form bent over in
the stocks. He was moaning softly. He was not asleep. I walked
quietly behind him and inserted two fingers this time, swirling
them around for several minutes, stretching his hole. Then I
spanked him again, the slap of my hands upon his soft flesh
echoing through the silent living room. If felt between his legs.
He was hard. I left him and returned to bed.
Late mornings are not my habit, but I purposely slept in
when the sun appeared through my bedroom windows. Around ten I
finally got up and put on my jeans. When I got to the living
room, Alex' head was slumped down. Blindfolded as he was, I
couldn't tell if he was sleeping or resting or just exhausted. It
didn't really matter. I brought him around with a few gentle
slaps to the face. And then we began again. Every thirty minutes
I fucked him with my finger. Every fifteen minutes later I
stroked his penis. I imagined the constant forced erections were
starting to become painful.
Around midday, I brought him his lunch. I moved a chair in
front of him and sat down, holding his plate on my lap. I pulled
out his earplugs then reached behind his head and removed his
gag. He didn't say a word to me. His silence was beautiful.
"How much do you hate me right now?" I asked softly.
His unbroken voice was weak and scratchy. "A whole lot."
"And how much do you love me?"
"Even more."
I gently touched his face, running my fingers over his
blindfold. He stretched his neck out as far as it would go in the
stocks, desperate for my touch. "I brought you something to eat.
Open your mouth."
Alex obeyed me, and I leisurely fed the boy his fruit and
cheese. He drank some soda from a straw. When he was finished, I
plugged his ears and gagged him again, and his afternoon was much
the same as his morning. He was beginning to anticipate when he'd
feel my finger in his ass, or my hand upon his penis. Touch was
all he had, and it was becoming electrifying for both of us.
In between my regular trips to the stocks, I set things up
in his room for the evening. He would never, ever, forget this
day, or this night. I fed him a light supper, then removed him
from the stocks. I gave him back his hearing, but the gag stayed
in. Standing on his own, wearing the blindfold, seemed to scare
him. I held onto my boy firmly and made him take a few minutes to
stretch and limber up again. His leash was still attached to his
collar, and I took it in my hand.
"Down on your hands and knees."
With tired aching legs he obeyed me.
"Let's go for a walk." I gave the leash a firm tug. I could
feel his muscles tense. Resistance from my submissive boy. I knew
it was the blindness. "Don't be afraid, Alex. I won't let you
walk into anything. You are safe with your master. This is about
trust, Alex, and obedience. Show me you can do both."
I tugged again, and this time the boy crawled forward, still
timid and unsure.
"That's better. Now stay close to me. Your shoulder should
always be touching my leg when you're on the leash."
Alex moved closer and pressed himself against me. I could
feel his slender frame trembling. "Don't be scared. Stay close.
Come on."
I walked him around the living room at first, to get him
used to the subtle pull of the leash. We took it slow. His
confidence grew with each step. Finally I led him through the
kitchen and out onto the back porch. There was only a short step
down onto the grass and he managed it gracefully, never once
moving away from me.
It was a damp and humid evening. The smell of rain was in
the air. Once his initial fear had passed, Alex became more and
more at ease, and more and more enthused, but he was also very
serious, showing great self-discipline and restraint.
"Good job, Alex. Let's try it standing up now. On your
feet."
This was actually more difficult for both of us, especially
with his blindfold in place. I had to be careful not to knock him
off balance. And Alex really had no way of judging my pace or
anticipating my direction. This naturally led to some rather
harsh yanks upon the leash that caused him to stagger forward. He
almost fell a few times and I had to reach out to steady him.
We kept at it until the sun began to go down. He would need
a great deal more training, but it was a good first day in his
collar.
Back inside, we carefully navigated the steps. In the
bathroom I stood him in the tub and gave him his enema, leaving
him holding his water while I prepared the final touches in his
room. When I returned to him, my blind and gagged boy was ready,
his cock standing rigid and throbbing. I had left Alex on his
honor. His belt was still downstairs. I was prepared to find him
jerking his young dick, but he was just standing there with his
hands behind his head, his legs spread as wide as we dared
without the plug there to keep everything in. He had not touched
himself.
After the boy finished his business on the toilet, I took
his leash in hand and led him down the hall to his bedroom. I
first removed his gag, and then there, for the first time in
almost twenty-four hours, I lifted the blindfold. His young eyes
were tired, he hadn't slept much.
He looked around in wonder.
In his windows, on his nightstand, at his desk, along the
shelves that lined his walls, his room was lit by candles. They
cast a warm, comfortable glow, and their sweet cinnamon odor
filled the air. His old sheets were gone, replaced by a silken
set in dark blue. I thought the color suited him, and he would
love the feel of it against his skin. The ropes at the corners of
the bed were gone as well, replaced by the sturdy chains Robert
had given us. Soft new-age music played on his stereo, barely
audible, simply a whisper of sound to complete the setting.
Alex turned around and gazed at me in amazement. I removed
the leash from his collar and hugged him close.
"We're going to do something very special tonight, Alex. I
want you to feel special too."
"I . . . I already do, master."
"Give me your hand, sweetheart."
His left and my right joined, and together we approached the
bed. I removed his harness and let it fall to the floor. His
thigh cuffs came off next. Then last his collar, just for
tonight. His wrist and ankle cuffs remained. I would be needing
them. His eyes were dancing. Freed of his leather, he seemed
suddenly smaller and so much younger. Delicate and fragile and
hairless. A child. But between his legs there stood that raging
rod of flesh. He was boy and man all at once, my sweet, my
gentle, my intelligent, my complicated Alex.
"Lie down."
He did.
"Spread yourself."
He did.
I fastened his cuffs to the chains at the four corners of
the bed.
"I'm going to milk you now."
Alex stared blankly for a moment, and then his hazel eyes
got big when he realized what that meant. "You're going to make
me cum, right?"
"Over and over again, until you can't squeeze out another
drop."
"Will it hurt?"
"Maybe just a little, toward the very end. I think it's
going to be a lot like when I fucked you, only this time you'll
be hard every second. Rock hard. Now put your head back."
Alex was tense and nervous. To help him relax before we
started, I took the bottle of baby oil I'd placed by the
nightstand and poured a small amount onto his stomach. I massaged
him slowly and gently. He sighed and his breathing eased. His
gorgeous eyes were sunken and ringed in dark circles. He'd slept
only in fits for the last twenty-four hours. He yawned and looked
at me sleepily. I worked his young body at my leisure, enjoying
the soft silken warmth of the boy's hairless skin, the sturdy
wiry hardness of his developing muscles. Things had gotten a
little rushed these last few days. Alex had borne it all bravely,
but it was time to slow down and let him enjoy it.
"This feels so nice, Steve," he said.
It actually felt good and right to hear him say my name
again. We would always be Master and slave, but tonight I also
wanted us to be lovers.
The boy's skin was glistening in the candlelight. He was
already hard and waiting for my hands to touch him there. I
gripped his shaft gently. He tensed and shivered.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
"Yes, master."
I smiled at him. "I'll need you to help me do this, Alex.
When you feel like you're about to ejaculate, I want you to tell
me. Will you do that?"
He nodded.
"When you feel it, I want you to tense up, down here," I put
my hand on his hairless abdomen. "You are not allowed to
ejaculate unless I give you permission. I will be very
disappointed in you if you do. I can make this wonderful for you.
Do you want your master's help?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
I pulled the only chair in the room beside his bed, then
leaned in to kiss him, softly on the lips. And so we began.
There is something incredibly and simply beautiful about a
boy's penis, especially when he's aroused. A symbol of fragile
youth, and rugged masculinity all at once. A boy's innocence and
his devilry are all summed up in that fleshy appendage between
his legs.
I stroked his cock slowly, lovingly, admiring the network of
tiny veins that appeared beneath the darkened skin. I rolled his
foreskin up, then pulled it back, dancing my finger over his
frenum. That was his special spot, and it received my special
attention. Alex bucked wildly, rattling the chains that
restrained him. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, his head
rolled around on the pillow. He wiggled his toes and clenched his
hand to fists.
"aaaahhhh. It's happening, sir!"
I didn't dare risk another stroke, not yet. I let go of his
throbbing boyhood and worked my hands over his balls, kneading
them gently, feeling their impressive weight. It was still a
boy's scrotum in which those plump ripe nuts hung, soft and like
velvet to the touch, but low and full.
"You're going to be huge," I said as I let his balls go and
watched them drop between his legs again.
Alex gave me a shy smile and thrust his hips up at me,
indicating he needed to be stroked again.
"Ready for more, are you?"
"Yes, master."
This time I leaned over him and took his young organ into my
mouth. Alex purred like a kitten. I felt his body relax as he
laid back and enjoyed it. I ran my hands up and down his
outstretched legs as I sucked and licked and rolled my tongue
over my boy's cock. I could actually feel him getting harder, and
those slight tremors that told me he was getting close, even if
his own addled brain hadn't registered it yet.
The boy sighed when I took my mouth away, but my hand was
quickly around his shaft again. This time I stroked him quickly,
as far up and down as his loose foreskin would let me. I confess
I envied him for being whole, for having that little bit of extra
flesh and extra length that had been stolen from me as an infant.
Five, six, seven fast strokes. He held his breath and strained,
closing his eyes tightly.
I heard him whisper to himself, "Don't cum. Don't cum. Feels
too good."
Bless his heart he was doing it. My wonderful Alex was
keeping himself from ejaculating. How hard that must have been
for a boy his age. It was a profound gift of love and trust and
total submission he was giving me. I kissed him on the cheek.
"You are so wonderful," I said.
"Is it . . . would it be okay . . . is it alright if I cry?"
he sniffled. Already his adolescent emotions were turning him
inside out.
Another kiss, this time on his lips. "Of course it is."
And even as the first of his tears began to fall, I took him
in hand again. He'd softened a little, but soon I had him firm
and throbbing. He was wet with pre-cum, it was streaming out of
him slowly, glistening in the light from the candles. After a few
minutes he tensed again, raising his head off the pillow,
straining against the chains. I could see his abdominal muscles
flexing tightly. He groaned, loudly and deeply. I stopped. His
penis stood straight and hard. More clear fluid dribbled from the
tip.
The spasms were getting stronger, and once this one had
passed, I sucked him again. For thirty minutes we went on like
this, bringing him right to the edge and then, the two of us
together, pulling him back.
I stroked him more slowly now, and more firmly, squeezing
his shaft and working the pre-cum out of him. I felt his penis
surge suddenly against my fingers. Alex shouted in ecstasy and
tugged violently against his bonds. Every muscle in his young
body was taught. And then, with a low moan he laid back. Sperm
began to pour out of his penis, but there were no contractions,
no ejaculation, just the steady flow of the twelve-year-old boy's
thin white seed.
"Mmmmmm."
I gave him no time to think about what was happening. I
rubbed him again, and again I got the same reaction, and the same
slow outpouring. Alex was in another world, lolling his head from
side to side, back and forth, his breathing quick and erratic.
For the next hour I continued, gradually milking him. Often
nothing would come out at all, but four more times I was able to
coax his sperm out of his balls and onto his stomach. His trim,
muscular belly was covered with it now. I gave it several more
tries, edging him, but it seemed I'd milked him dry. I began to
masturbate him intently.
"I want you to ejaculate this time," I said as I brought him
closer and closer.
Finally he gave out a high-pitched cry, the same I
remembered hearing from him when he was younger.
"Aaaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaahhhh." Three strong contractions,
each eliciting a deep shout of pleasure and anguish. Alex was
ejaculating, but his young body had nothing left to give. A dry
cum, just like he'd had as a little boy. His penis was still hard
when it was over. He went utterly limp, and his head fell to one
side.
My sweet boy had actually fainted.
"Alex?" I gently stroked his cheek.
He came around instantly and gazed at me with love and
devotion.
"Who's my special boy?"
"I am."
"Who will always love you?"
"You will."
"Who's your master forever?"
"You are."
I'd said Alex would never forget this night, and he hasn't.
Even now that he's a young man he still talks about what we did
together on that warm summer evening, with a dreamy faraway look
in his beautiful eyes.
Interlude: One Month, and the Dungeon.
Time passed quickly over the next few weeks. Alex was
thriving in his new life. He laughed more than I'd ever known him
to, and his face was lit with his beautiful smile more than I'd
ever seen, except when he was wearing the gag of course.
My enforcement of strict chastity was still a struggle for
him, but his weekly milking gave him a goal to shoot for,
literally, and of course it also eased some of the build-up of
boyish hormones for a while. We never again went in for the show
and ritual of that first night, for neither of us wanted to
cheapen that cherished memory. Still the milking remained a
gentle fixture of our lives.
The boy's collar and lead training was going well. On two
feet or on all fours, blindfolded or with eyes staring straight
ahead, he was developing a practiced confidence and a dignified
grace. We saw Robert several times, and the experienced master
remarked what a fine and handsome young slave Alex was becoming.
Of course my boy gave him a low flourishing bow, which always
brought a smile to Robert's face. Alex and Michael actually made
love for us on one occasion. Penetration was strictly forbidden,
but it was glorious to see these two horny young slaves in collar
and harness passionately pleasuring each other. Alex' infatuation
with the older slave was obvious and incredibly sweet, and
Michael seemed to enjoy the chance to be the dominant partner, at
least for a brief moment.
Alex was not allowed clothing of any kind while at home. I
kept him in his leather gear most of the time, or simply naked
and belted and collared, although we did use the irons and chains
when I worked him in the yard. He spent his nights chained to his
bed, or in the stocks, which he and I had moved to the basement.
Rare now but very special were the nights he spent in his
master's bed.
The punishment bench was down in the basement now too, along
with the many implements of pain Robert had provided. I had
gradually added more to the arsenal, and our new dungeon was
where Alex was disciplined every day. He liked to call it
torture, but the word disturbed me, I suppose partly because I so
deeply enjoyed inflicting pain upon him. I was calculating and
cruel, and merciless, and he loved me for it, never knowing how
close to the edge we were both walking, with only his safeword,
which I had trained my ears to listen for over his screams, to
protect us.
Our work on the dungeon had gotten underway the day after
his first milking. The boy was a slave, every moment of every
day, but I felt it was important that we had a special place
where we could explore our darkest fantasies and desires.
We repainted the brick walls first. Alex naturally wanted
all black, but he grudgingly accepted my suggestion of a thin
whitewashing, so that it would retain that harsh, rustic look. We
turned the water back on down there, and hooked up a sink and
showerhead over the drain in the corner. I brought in a plumber
to put in the toilet. I installed modern track lighting, which
illuminated the place nicely and drove the shadows away. Ours was
going to be a dungeon of contrasts, hard and cold to the eye, yet
also bright, a place were darkness was not allowed to linger and
taint the heart. And yet as we worked it was transformed into an
ominous space.
Chains and shackles were soon dangling from the wooden posts
and down from the rafters, all at a height befitting the age of
the boy who would be spending hours hanging from them. Robert
helped us acquire our first serious piece, an X-cross, custom
sized, but large enough to grow with Alex as he entered his
teens. There was a cot in one corner, its metal frame covered
only by a thin bare mattress.
Using his charcoals, Alex drew some graffiti on the walls.
Scenes of torture and suffering from deep within his psyche. They
changed often. He'd wash one away, or create a new one, or add to
those he'd already finished. It was some strange form of therapy
for him. We had a ritual. Every time we tried something new,
every time he experienced a new kind of pain, he would draw how
it made him feel on the walls, thus making them a tapestry of his
journey into slavery.
Not that we spent every moment down there. It did consume
much of our energies for certain, but we made time for other
things. Fun things. Summer things. I was determined that he not
stop being a boy, simply because he was a slave. The two were the
same, but also distinct. Alex was collared all the time, but when
we went out in public I put a less conspicuous dog collar around
his neck. Many young and soon-to-be teens wear them, and so, to
passing strangers, he just looked like a handsome kid entering
his rebellious stage, which he was beginning to do anyway. He
wore his wrist cuffs proudly, although I took the padlocks off
for obvious reasons. His ankle cuffs were hidden under his socks.
No one guessed the true meaning and symbolism of the leather
around his neck or upon his wrists, a secret he and I enjoyed
sharing between us.
There was time spent at the beach, his golden tan turning a
dark reddish-brown before my eyes. He couldn't wear his chastity
belt under his speedo, which was about all he wore the entire
time, so we left it in the hotel room, strapping it on at night
before bed.
There was the baseball game, the trip to the mall to buy his
clothes for the coming school year, numerous of our now
traditional late-night visits to Gino's. There was even a
birthday party for one his classmates, where Alex' newfound sense
of confidence and self-worth made him seem like a different
person in the eyes of his young male peers. He started making
friends, and even had a few boys over during the long summer
days. They loved his artwork and insisted that he do pictures of
them. Naturally they posed shirtless, giving me a knowing look as
I stared on in admiration at their firm, young, thirteen-year-old
bodies. Boys that age know they're sexy, don't ever let anyone
tell you otherwise.
The blond was coming on to me from the time he walked in the
door, a nice polite kid named Nathan with gorgeous blue eyes and
already a cute little patch of hair under each arm. The bulge in
his pants made me realize that Alex wasn't the only boy in his
class running around with a man-sized cock between his legs. The
other boy was Ashton, black hair, green eyes, a real pistol and
still entirely prepubescent. Three cute shirtless boys in my
living room. I was sweating bullets the entire time, making
regular trips to the kitchen to ensure the basement door remained
locked, and to adjust the boner plainly visible in my pants.
"Think Nate would whip me, if I asked him?" Alex wondered
aloud one afternoon after the boys had gone home.
"If we got him down in the dungeon, he wouldn't be doing any
whipping," I replied with an evil grin. "A lot of screaming
maybe."
"He's hot, isn't he?"
"Very."
Alex' thirteenth was approaching, and weeks before, with
Robert's help, I'd tracked down someone to make the ultimate
present for him. Of course there were games for his Xbox and some
new CD's, as well as a very nice leather vest he'd been wanting,
but he would certainly be the only boy around with this
particular item.
He was out riding his bike with Nate, when my special order
was delivered, apparently by the man who made it. He knew Robert
well, and so he naturally knew of us. Straight down into the
basement it went. I tipped the man handsomely, but he refused and
was on his way. Alex and his pal came thundering through the back
door just a few minutes later. They were both shirtless and
sweaty. The strong sweet odor of boy was intoxicating. He
recognized the meaningful look in my eyes and gently told Nathan
it was time for him to go home.
"You are so weird sometimes," Nate said to him in his
crackling pubescent voice, but he did it with a friendly smile.
Out the door he went and was gone on his bike.
Alex stood up straight and returned my gaze.
"What is it, master?"
"Get naked, this instant!" I shouted.
A look of shock flashed across his gentle face. Alex was in
his bare skin a moment later. The chastity belt was around his
waist. I removed the dog collar he was wearing and told him to
bring me his regular one, along with the leash, and his gag. The
boy was gone in a flash, crashing up the steps to his room. He
came back quickly with the prescribed inventory.
The collar went on immediately.
Taking his jaw firmly in hand, I forced his head back,
opened his mouth, and quickly stuffed the ball-gag inside,
strapping it tightly behind. Gagging him was the only time I
really and truly handled him roughly, but it seemed fitting that
this should be a harsh and swift act of domination and control. I
did not give him time to submit. I simply took him. We began with
this ritual every morning, and every visit to the dungeon started
this way as well.
"Give me your leash," I commanded. My voice was harsh and
stern, more so than he was used to. I saw his young eyes dance
for just a moment, unprepared for the cruelty he was hearing from
the master he loved so completely.
His hands were shaking when he handed it to me. I attached
the leash to his collar and pulled him close to me, nearly off
his feet. "Things are going to be different from now on, little
slave," I said.
And I did mean that. He would be thirteen in just two days.
He already had five wispy brown hairs growing above his penis,
and several more on his scrotum. At twelve years old, you might
still consider him a little boy, and part of me always had. At
thirteen those days were over. This was a young man standing
before me now, and my expectations of him were going to be much
greater from this day forward.
"Follow me," I growled.
I'd never seen him so frightened. It was wonderful. Down
into the basement we went. The lights were off at the bottom of
the steps. I flipped them on and waited for him to react to our
latest addition.
The cage was about three feet high, four feet long and three
feet wide, made of a heavy wooden frame with steel bars. The door
was open, a large baton lock ready and waiting. The base was a
solid wood plank, with iron rings bolted to it. My boy turned and
looked at me with love and surprise in his eyes.
I dropped the leash, and put my arm around his shoulders,
already broader than they were just a few short months ago.
"Happy birthday, Alex."